Don't You Worry (We'll All Float on Alright)
by AnchorRed
Summary: Sam can't breathe. He's not sure how he's supposed to feel about that.


Garbled.

It felt like the whole world was underwater, but that couldn't be true, because that would mean that _he_ was und—

Oh.

He wasn't sure what to do with that realization. His oxygen-starved brain didn't really seem to care. He didn't know which way was up and which way was down. Literally. He knew that apathy wasn't the best way to go, but he couldn't really grasp…well, anything.

Cool water flowed between his fingers, and his listless feet couldn't find anything solid within reach, not that it really mattered, anyway. His waterlogged boots and clothing were way too heavy to try to maneuver even the smallest of movements, and what little energy he had was quickly seeping out of him along with the bubbles that floated away from his mouth and nose of their own accord.

If he could have, he'd have asked them to stay, to not leave him alone in that dark, weightless world. He knew they were important, that he needed them, but he wasn't sure why. He felt like he'd been abandoned, like his friends were leaving him alone in this dark, unknown place.

He watched the last bubble flee as he reached out towards it, begging it to come back, when he became aware of a new sensation. Burning. How could such a cold place burn? No. No, it wasn't the place. It was _him_. His chest was burning, being consumed by a raging fire—

Nothing.

His sluggish hands felt his chest, but there was nothing but his flannel shirt, and it was wet. Fire wasn't wet, but he still felt the burning all the same, deep inside, scorching his lungs.

He screwed his eyes shut tightly against the pain. A blazing pressure seemed to have infected his lungs and chest, and he could feel the sickness spreading to his head, the merciless pounding threatening to split his skull.

Instinct told him to take a breath. Just breathe. It also told him not to. His body was warring with itself, trying to figure out how to survive, but he was simply a spectator. He couldn't be bothered to focus on that when he had a hard time just dealing with the pain. Thoughts were slippery in his addled brain. All he really knew in that moment was that it would all be okay.

A sense of calmness came over him and his limbs stilled. A strange warmth spread from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes, replacing the fiery heat. He felt a tingling in his fingers as black dots peppered his vision. The pressure in his chest eased as he became enveloped in his surroundings. They became one. He felt himself floating, drifting gently down to unconsciousness.

* * *

The first thing he became aware of was pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

It wasn't like the burning sensation before. It was an explosion filling his whole chest cavity and consuming the weak hold he had on consciousness.

Muscles. Spasming. Before he could even process it, he felt his darkened world tilt, the solid surface beneath him gone. On his side, eyes still shut, his stomach spasmed again. A rocket blasted up his throat, turning his mouth into a geyser as water forced its way up and out, only adding to his pain.

After an eternity, it stopped, only to be replaced by harsh, unrelenting coughs, tearing through his throat and flaring the agony in his chest. His fingers curled into the cool surface below him, nails scraping the soft soil and uprooting the uncut grass.

The coughing finally eased, leaving him gasping. His lungs expanded and his pain was temporarily forgotten.

There it was.

That was it.

Oxygen flowed through his lungs, his mouth, and his nose. That's what he'd been missing this whole time. What had it been? Two? Three lifetimes since he'd felt that sweet substance filling his soul? He didn't know, but it didn't matter. He greedily, voraciously, sucked it all in.

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down, Sammy. Just breathe. Deep breaths."

He felt a warm, light pressure on his shoulder. It felt familiar. It felt _right_. The pressure shifted to his back and began rubbing gently. His body reacted instinctively, breaths slowing to a calmer pace.

"There you go, Sammy. You're okay. I'm here. I've got you."

His brain finally felt like it had caught up, not feeling quite so fuzzy since it was no longer deprived of oxygen. He cracked his eyes open, and peering through the slits, he saw a blurry figure leaning over him. He blinked, helping his eyes to focus.

"Dean?" he said, barely a whisper, but his ever-attentive brother caught it easily.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm here," Dean answered, and Sam felt his brother's fingers run through his hair, removing the strands from covering his eyes. "You're just fine." There was a pause. Dean pursed his lips. "Well, you're _going_ to be fine, anyway. Need to get you checked out. Your head's bleeding and I may have cracked a couple of your ribs doing CPR, but, yeah, it's—"

"Dean," Sam said, cutting off his brother's rambling. He was too tired to make much sense of it, anyway. Just having him there was enough. He knew everything would be okay.

Dean looked down at his little brother, waiting for him to finish what he was going to say. Instead, he saw Sam open his palm out to him, and he took it without hesitation, giving it a light squeeze. He saw Sam relax as he closed his eyes, a smile ghosting his lips.

Yeah, they'd be alright.


End file.
